


The Correlation of Work Exhaustion with Horniness: A Report by Fuuka Yamagishi

by a_very_large_television



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4 Arena, Persona 4 Arena Ultimax, Persona Series
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breast Focus, Breast Play, Breast Sucking, Established Relationship, F/F, Futanari, Girl Penis, Large Breasts, Large Cock, Massage, Missionary Position, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Female Character, Vaginal Sex, idk it's however you want to interpret it, leg lock, the point is that fuuka has a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 11:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_very_large_television/pseuds/a_very_large_television
Summary: Shortly after the events of the Arena games, Fuuka's struggling late at night to finish her post-mission briefing. Mitsuru comes in to check in on her.(spoiler alert they fuck)





	The Correlation of Work Exhaustion with Horniness: A Report by Fuuka Yamagishi

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! It's been awhile since I last posted. This is borderline-vanilla by my usual standards, so if you were hoping for more weird, overly-fetishy stuff, sorry to disappoint. Hopefully next time!
> 
> If you'd like to keep tabs on my writing and get in touch, I'm on Twitter now [@verylargetv](https://twitter.com/verylargetv)  
> Comments are very much appreciated! I read them all and they mean a ton to me, so please let me know if you enjoyed it!

For most people, work was work. A tiresome, daily repetition we struggle through out of necessity, generally never awful enough to send us into proper despair but certainly boring enough to become a grating slog. Yeah, sure, it’s nice to have money, but nobody really  _ likes _ having to work. 

For Fuuka Yamagishi, work was… well, it was still  _ work _ , but it was more than that. It was a chance to use her gifts - both her supernatural, Persona-related gifts and her more mundane inclination towards computers and tech - to help people. To make sure bad things happened just a little bit less in the world, no matter how many times Shadows would crop up to threaten humanity. 

Plus, she still got to hang out with most of her old friends from high school, so that was nice. Sure, Junpei and Yukari were busy with their own work and couldn’t be with the Shadow Operatives full time, and Ken was still in school. But Aigis, Akihiko, and Mitsuru were (usually) still around plenty. Even if their confrontations with Shadows were no longer daily escapades like they were back in high school, Fuuka still got a chance to see them often. Aigis was integrating into human society well. Akihiko was going back to school like he’d promised. And Mitsuru….

Fuuka blushed a little thinking about her. 

And she shook her head, prying those thoughts away, fingers going back to typing away on the document in front of her.  _ Analysis of Shadow and Persona evolution in the Yasoinaba incident _ \- essentially recapping all that she could recall from the recent Golden Week fiasco in Inaba, and how elements of Personas and Shadows differentiated from how they did a few years ago when SEES was hunting Shadows in Tartarus. It certainly wasn’t the most engrossing work Fuuka did, but it was easy.

Easy.

...easy.

Fuuka’s fingers stopped, she stared at the screen, and groaned. 

Work was still work, no matter how many benefits she got out of it. And work was still  _ boring _ . 

She sighed, backspacing and stumbling through her report, trying to find the best way to word it, pouring through the notes she had left for herself in other documents. Was there anything important she was forgetting? Something one of the kids from Inaba had told her that had slipped her mind? Great, now she was worried - what if there was something that totally changed everything they knew about Shadows, and she had just  _ forgotten  _ it? Should she have been taking more notes? Maybe Akihiko or Yukari had remember something, or she could get in touch with that Naoto girl to see if she had anything worth mentioning.

Backspace. Undo. Redo. No, wait, backspace again. This was frustrating. Fuuka groaned. 

She heard high heels clicking against tile, but didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know who their owner was. 

“Fuuka,” Mitsuru said, her steps getting closer. “Is everything alright? You’re working late again.”

Fuuka glanced back over her shoulder for a moment, acknowledging Mitsuru’s presence, before turning back to the computer. “I’m okay, Senpai,” she said, too steeped in using the old high school honorific to just drop it entirely. “Just tired, I think.”

Mitsuru made an acknowledging “Hmm,” idly eyeing the room. She was still wearing that goofy, curve-hugging catsuit, though she must have left the white coat to lay somewhere. “Sorry, I won’t bother you for long. Is your report coming in acceptably?”

“I think so,” Fuuka said. “I might need to try and ask Aigis or Akihiko-senpai if they had anything else they remembered that might help with this.”

Mitsuru smiled a bit, nodding. “Can you believe there was an entire Shadow incident last year in Inaba that we didn’t even know about?” Her tone was more casual, deliberately so - it almost felt out-of-character from Mitsuru. “I can’t help but wonder what else might be there that we haven’t heard of yet.”

Fuuka nodded, but kept her eyes on the words in front of her, squinting, reading back her own writing. Mitsuru was still talking about Shadows and Inaba and other cities and Fuuka  _ kinda _ paid attention, nodding a little bit, but focused on her report and - no, that wasn’t right. Backspace, she could word that better. She  _ really _ should have gotten Naoto’s phone number to ask her for help, she would definitely -

Fuuka seized up a little bit when she felt hands on her shoulder.

“You’re working hard, Fuuka, and I appreciate it,” Mitsuru said - and Fuuka couldn’t help but shudder a little, crimson flush starting to paint her cheeks, at the hot breath in her ear. “But you do so much for us. When was the last time you took a break?”

Fuuka’s hands slid down off her keyboard, biting down on her lip as she leaned back into her seat. Mitsuru’s touches were soft, precise - clearly, she’d done this before, but Fuuka couldn’t ever remember her mentioning anything about massaging. 

She was melting into Mitsuru’s touches, shuddering,  _ squirming _ even, Mitsuru silently noted with a smirk. Her hands trailed down Fuuka’s body, just avoiding her breasts, down her soft belly to gently gripping her waist in a light hug, and then further down still to the sides of Fuuka’s office chair, turning it around to face her.

And suddenly Fuuka, cheeks as red as Mitsuru’s hair, found herself looking up at her, staring into her eyes. And her eyes followed lower, as Mitsuru got closer to the ground, slowly slipping to her knees and - 

Fuuka waved her hands wildly, leaning back into her seat. “W-Wait, is here a good place for that?! We’ve never -”

Mitsuru barely held back a giggle. “Nobody else is here, Fuuka. I promise you, it’ll be fine.”

Fuuka blinked, and after a moment of silence, let her hands slip back down to her sides. “O-Okay. I trust you.”

Another pause, and Mitsuru gave a small nod, before slipping her hands underneath Fuuka’s skirt and tugging at the sides of her pants, past her hips and to her knees. Teal, bulging panties barely covered up her decency, and Mitsuru couldn’t hide the giggle this time. “Oh, those ones are my favorite color of yours.”

Fuuka buried her face in her palms.

Mitsuru slid them down just as with Fuuka’s pants, and with no constraints holding it back, out flopped a thick, hardening length and a fat set of balls.

Mitsuru didn’t waste anymore time, and her head slipped forward, stretching her mouth wide and taking Fuuka’s dick into it. Soft, plump lips wrapped themselves just barely past the head, before sliding further down, like a pair of pillows hugging her cock. A pleasured “Eke” slipped from Fuuka’s lips, leaning further back into her seat, legs spreading wide, unable to stop her hips from bucking just a little as the hot, wet insides of Mitsuru’s mouth enveloped more of her thickening cock.

Mitsuru worked steadily and confidently, keeping Fuuka wrapped around her finger - she was slow, taking Fuuka halfway down and then back up, keeping her in throes but never pushing hard to give exactly  _ everything _ Fuuka wanted. Not yet. Red lipstick marks stained Fuuka’s length, a visual mark of how deep Mitsuru’s mouth had gone, and her tongue worked in tandem with her soft lips, assaulting each and every piece of Fuuka’s cock it could reach. All the while Mitsuru didn’t dare take her eyes away from Fuuka’s, looking up at her, eyes half-lidded. Even if she was the one on her knees suckling fat cock, she was the one in control, just as she wanted it. 

But for Fuuka, it was so… slow. Agonizingly slow. Mitsuru generally revelled in this, making Fuuka beg for it, staying in control all the while - but now? It had been so long for Fuuka. She  _ needed _ release, she needed it soon, and Mitsuru wasn’t giving it.

Mitsuru was a bit surprised to feel Fuuka’s hands on the sides of her head. 

And Fuuka  _ shoved _ , Mitsuru’s eyes widening in shock, her mouth spreading wider and suddenly stuffed with cock, pulled all the way down to the base of Fuuka’s groin. Mitsuru was still looking up, expression more surprised than seductive, but Fuuka’s eyes were snapped tight and her cheeks red hot - was she embarrassed? Was it just overwhelming lust? Mitsuru wasn’t entirely certain.

Mitsuru, around the heavy taste of dick filling out the entirety of her mouth and threatening to push down her throat, squeaked out what sounded like a very muffled “Fuuka?”

And with a cry of her own, Fuuka pulled back just a little, Mitsuru’s soft lips caressing her length again, and pushed back down, the taste again on Mitsuru’s tongue, tearing into every inch of her mouth, overwhelming and powerful. And again, and again - Mitsuru was powerless, riding it out with each thrust Fuuka shoved into her mouth in a relentless facefuck. Her lipstick was thoroughly smeared and ruined, balls slapped against her chin again and again, her hair was matted, sweaty, and messy, and muffled groans and “Mmphs” slipped out with each thrust Fuuka made into her.

A familiar tightness filled Fuuka’s groin, she stopped thrusting to let her cock remain buried in Mitsuru’s mouth, and with a loud moan and a thickening of her member, she came, the sudden taste of seed coupling with the sweaty, thick cock filling Mitsuru’s tastebuds. She still looked up at Fuuka, eyes sparkling like they were overcome with hearts.

Only when Fuuka’s load came to an end and she finished dumping into Mitsuru did her heady moan cease and she finally pulled out of her mouth with a pop, her cock covered in spittle and lipstick stains, still gently throbbing. She was off her high, and looked back down to Mitsuru, shame and embarrassment replacing the previous feeling of unceasing lust. 

“Oh no, Mitsuru, I d-didn’t mean- I-I’m sorry-”

She trailed off, babbling, as Mitsuru slowly clambered onto her lap, swallowing the load in her mouth, an audible, exaggerated gulp each time.

It wasn’t what Mitsuru had expected at all. But… fuck if it wasn’t hot. 

And she could still feel Fuuka’s hard cock pressing against her backside. She smirked. “Are you still…?”

Fuuka covered her face with her palms and nodded.

Mitsuru slipped off, and Fuuka widened her fingers enough to peek through them, gaze following Mitsuru as she walked away and took a seat at a mostly clutter-free portion of Fuuka’s desk. She reached behind her back, struggling for a moment, before a “click” she unlatched the girdle connected from her waist to crotch. It fell to the floor - and left her exposed, the skintight outfit hugging her midriff, pussy visibly dripping wet. She leaned back on the table, legs spread a bit, and the clothes were tight enough she didn’t even need to remove them for Fuuka to see  _ everything _ there. “You can finish here, Fuuka,” she said, voice breathy, trying to be seductive but slipping a little bit, still overwhelmed by the rough treatment. “Please?”

Fuuka, pants entirely discard now, stumbled over, standing just inches from Mitsuru - her cock was achingly hard, the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen was begging for her to fuck her, and she just… stood there, gazing all over Mitsuru’s body, down to up - until she met Mitsuru’s eyes and looked back to the floor, embarrassed, both by her actions and Mitsuru’s… forwardness. “I, uh, Senpai, I d-don’t know if I should….”

Mitsuru rolled her eyes, wrapped her legs around Fuuka, and pulled her closer.

With a yelp, Fuuka found herself yanked right on top of Mitsuru, her cock sandwiched between both girls’ middles, head falling right on top of Mitsuru’s heavy breasts. Legs still wrapped around Fuuka’s bare ass, Mitsuru grinded her middle against Fuuka’s cock, the friction another surge of pleasure shooting through Fuuka.

She cried out, the tightness on her cock feeling so  _ good _ , her head jolting up from its spot on Mitsuru’s chest. As Mitsuru kept pleasuring her, one of her hands slid down to grasp Fuuka’s and brought it up to one of her tits. “Touch them, p-please.”

And touch them she did, a moment’s hesitation before she started squeezing - those huge, fat, perfect  _ tits _ Fuuka had always gawked at, that looked barely constrained by that achingly-tight suit, that Fuuka always quietly hoped would pop out. As Mitsuru squeezed her cock, both of Fuuka’s hands went for one breast each, uncoordinated, messy groping, filling her palms with the overwhelming size of each, slipping up and squeezing down on a hard nipple until Mitsuru was moaning, achingly loud.

It came out desperately, breathily, begging for it. “F-Fuuka, fuck me, please.”

There wasn’t hesitation this time - Fuuka leaned back just a little, enough to pull her cock back, lined herself up with Mitsuru, and pushed against the barrier of the catsuit. It spread Mitsuru wide, leaving her biting her lip, glancing down at Fuuka’s adorably-exerted face - before there was a rip, the barrier was broken, and the entirety of the length hilted itself into Mitsuru, leaving both crying out.

And then out, and back in, out, back in, each shove punctuated with a move of her hips, butt raising and then lowering once more, every one bringing a pair of undignified, aching moans. Fuuka went right back for Mitsuru’s tits as she relentlessly fucked, hands squishing them together until her mouth could wrap around both nipples, achingly hard and visible through the suit. Mitsuru moaned, barely able to pant out a “F-Fuuka, that’s t-too much!”

If Fuuka heard her, it didn’t matter. She suckled, hands massaging the massive titties as if she were trying to milk them, all the while thrusting in, out, in, out, each one feeling like it was spreading Mitsuru wider than the last. Heavy balls, packed with cum to aching to let it out again, slapped against Mitsuru’s ass, and all she could do was lean back and let Fuuka have her way.

Fuuka pulled her head away from Mitsuru’s chest, and they stared at each other’s blushing face, both exerting a breathy, quiet moan with each thrust, and she leaned down, meeting Mitsuru’s mouth, a kiss that was too filled with lust to be anything but messy and uncoordinated. Tongues met, and Mitsuru came, electric jolts through her as her body shivered against Fuuka’s.

And it was enough to push Fuuka over the edge, hesitating, buried balls deep into the love of her life. Mitsuru tightened the grip with her legs, pulling Fuuka deeper than she’d ever been, and she came, spilling spurt after spurt of hot, thick seed deep into Mitsuru as their tongues continued to clash.

It was only after each and every drop emptied into Mitsuru did Fuuka’s mouth pull away, leaving both panting and aching and satisfied. 

And Fuuka, thoroughly exhausted by the events of Inaba, by work, and by the out-of-nowhere fuck session, let her head collapse back onto Mitsuru’s chest, mouth again slipping around a nipple and idly, lazily suckling on it.

Mitsuru just collapsed back on the desk, smiled, and stroked Fuuka’s hair.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
